Let me tell you of a world,
A world from the Book of the Dead.
Across this world roams the Myst
Slithering, pining, moaning...
It waits for the "perfect" one,
The one whose brilliance will burn the misery away.
Yes, this is the world of Valmordia. The world of the Myst.
The Myst that inhabits this once-peaceful land. It rolls across the oceans, caps the snowy mountains, and darkens even the hottest desert. It's watching. Waiting. Few have lived to hear the cries that it gives, heard only in story and fable...
If anyone's earned member of the month, Airu has earned it more than three times over. The other contestants have then gone missing and been found floating in a river. We're still working on that one.
The point is, even if Airu wasn't the wonderful role-player she is, she'd still get this. Believe me, for clinging on and giving us the delights of Marana and Cyra, she's earned it :D
No character of the month D:
This thread was started by Airu, and was chosen for ToTM for two reasons. One: well... Do we have any other IC threads...? *Cough*. But number two is the real reason! Let's face it: Airu is win. And this thread was nominated purely for that reason :D
idea ? echo plot ? echo layout ? echo&fallen images ? owners/creators photos used ? photographers species&history, etc ? echo&fallen
all content is copyright to its owners. the staff will not claim copyright for anything that is not theirs. any queries, please feel free to contact us.
steal images and we will take a needle to you, and believe me, those things can contain a helluva lot more than anaesthetic. after that... well, let's see what the likes of vanyel and dr. psylin can come up with, shall we?
If you wish to add your site here, please remember to check the rules of advertising, post in the correct sub-board, and if you can, check the plugged list to see if your site is already listed. Thanks for taking the time to check us out!
Come... to where the vultures scream and the parasite lurks... This is where you can find our plot, and some other useful snippets. You can find all the information you require about the Myst, and our scintillating tale of wondrous woe.
Any news pertaining to the site -specific updates, species modifications and the like- will be posted here. We may start a bi-weekly newspaper, so that everyone can be up to date with what's going on on the site.
Create a little dolly, or a puppet that will dance to no-one's beat but your own. [Character profiles go here.] Please, remember to have read the rules. Information on the profiles can be found within...
Perhaps your character wants to keep a log, a diary, of their life and times? Here's the place to note down their darkest secrets. Dream sequences, flash-backs, and other such recordings that would not work in normal IC can also go here. (Don't forget, no power-playing: only write history, or what has already happened!)
Are you new to Fading Echoes? Or do you just want to say 'hi' to the whole community? Well, whatever the case, post here and let us know. We'll greet you with a basket of cookies and a delighted squee ^^
(There's probably another board for this somewhere; I've just forgotten where it is XD) Anyone who's heading off for the holidays, having a break from these humorous hominids or simply needs to let things slide for a while... Well, you know what to do, don't you?
This board is only visible to staff of Fading Echoes. Here, the staff will store useful information, discuss plot directions and... well, you get the drift. After all, if you're staff, you know what we accept around here!
Outside the city, there is a slum. Literally millions of people who fled their homes for the safety that the world's largest city presented. Row upon row of flithy, ramshackle huts, tents and dens as far as the eye can see, yet a few metres of space kept between here and the city walls. The whole place stinks of alcohol, human sweat, piss, and blood.
Come little thing, come into my domain... We won't hurts you, oh no we won't... About one hundred kilometres from the last shacks of Slumville, north and west, there is the border of the Myst. The roads leading to this place are disused: the forests, even without the Myst's help, are beginning to reclaim their own. Occasionally, sun will break through the trees, and you might stumble upon a quiet clearing. Don't catch your breath though. There's more than one hungry parasite in these parts...
It is laughable to think that this rusting fence and broken gate once kept out the masses. This is Sundwe Park, planted long ago as a secluded retreat for the rich and famous. Now, it's overgrown with weeds, and even the fine chalets are open to the elements. Bordered by a huge iron fence, few people an be bothered to get in. Squatters tend to enjoy the beautiful -if over-looted- space, and it actually provides quite good shelter, even if the carpets are gone and the windows bashed in.
Ironically, but thirty metres from the outside filth, there is another slum. The degenerates of Theranse who couldn't be bothered clustering elsewhere still hold a few beaten-up houses down here. The under-cover cops are always in one corner or another, but it's really the crap on the ground that will give you more trouble. Little to see here, unless you want something with a side of disease.
Possibly the most famous little-known alley on the continent, Black Alley is the home of few major players in the black market of Theranse's filth. This little dark, lampless alley has been serving the drug dealers and lowlifes of Lockdown City's community for centuries. Filthy stone, spattered with various intreguing fluids, reflect bolted doors and shifty shadows, flitting from dark space to dark space.
Every low-down corner of the world has to have the government's nose in it, so that they can pretend to be doing something about it. Being mostly in disrepair now, the Cobblestone Cookhouse is a broken collection of volunteers who occasionally don't show up and food that no-one is ever sure what it's supposed to be. Built of stone with boarded up windows, the only sign that it is open is the flash of candlelight between the boards. It's quite the popular halfway-house.
The Shades... Short for 'Shadows', and the most common name for the once-prosperous lower regions. From the corner of Black Alley to the walls on either side, Main Street crosses the whole bredth of the lower district. The pavers are loose here, so that any horse not knackered long ago would have lost their footing easily. Even people have trouble standing sometimes, although that's probably more to do with the drink. Houses, wooden and imposing for all their age, line the broad street while ancient gaslamps shed a flickering light through the fog. In spite of the outer wall, it's always dirty and dim here.
This little corner of the Shades is squeezed up right into the lowest corner of the lowest district. Just of the crumbling end of Main Street, its smokestacks still occasionally puff as whatever the owners can get their hands on are put through the processors. Still more occasionally, a human-drawn cart will leave the premises carrying his load of mince or glue. The whole place stinks: more so now that the bare dirt around it ha been let out to horse or cow owners. The whole place reeks more than it did when it worked.
There's nothing untrue about the name of this bar. Its owner is well-known for his long machete and even longer tales of when he was cutting his way through the thick forests of the Xiaden continent. Not to mention that his skillet potatoes are nothing to be sniffed at. The bar is your typical affair: dark wood floors and walls coated with hunting trophies; booths packed into corners, their velvet seating worn to the texture of leather, and tables of the same dark wood. Any alcohol behind the bar is behind a black octadium grille, to discourage shoplifters. Dim lighting encourages the shadier patrons, but the bar area itself is always brightly lit: even the blind-drunk can find his way back for more.
Around the scientists' treasured district, there is a large, long wall. On both sides, there's at least five meters of tar-sealed emptiness, brightly lit even during the day. If the high electric fence and the spiked pit on the inside doesn't deter you, the guards will: they patrol like the walking dead, but they have orders to kill anyone who comes near the fence.
One part of the whole. This block contains most of the scientists' sleeping quarters; the regular ones, at least. The whole thing is a block of concrete, laid as one part of the labs' perfect grid pattern. All the rooms, from ground to the tenth floor, have little to differenciate them unless someone lives there.
'B' for blood-letting: this is where the average scientists work. The concrete rectangle has ten floors, the first eight of which are devoted to the laboratory. The top two are storage: storage of lives, that is. The cells here are badly kept.
In a small, concrete-walled rectangle, the utter failures of the labs are stored. Cells about a metre square house an experiment each: in the centre of this circle, a sort of secondary ditch cut down into the floor, is the Ring. Every experiment dreads this place. This is where the Blooders fight. Like some remnant of the Roman Colosseum, this place stinks of sweat and blood. The floor of the Ring, dusted with sand, has seen many experiments pushed from above onto its depths. The Ring is only three metres lower than floor level, but the room is so dark that extra lighting is needed: lights are wedged behind thick glass in the floor and walls, casting eerie shadows on the competitors.
In these catacombs of Lockdown City's waste, you never know what you'll find. Remember to bring a light with you: it's not like all the crap down here needs to see. Everything is slippery, everything is pale grey stone. Remember to keep to the raised pathways and a hand on the wall; there is no railing to stop you falling in.